MY BOOBS WERE ON PURPOSE, OKAY?!
Last night was Miranda and Reilly’s housewarming party, and it was one of the best evenings I’ve had. So much fun! Their new place is perfect for parties, and there were many awesome people and a random baby and the bubble chair and a photo booth and and and. It was such a great time!
And I’m only a little embarrassed for myself!
Although we had specifically designated this party as NOT A SWINGER PARTY, the innuendo was flying fast and furious from the moment the invitations went out. Comments were made about my boobs, and I replied saying I was going to wear a corset to prove .. well, I don’t remember what it was I was going to prove, but the corset would have done it. Unfortunately, the night before the party, I tried my corset on at home – and promptly had a mini panic attack. Both my corsets are a little tighter than they were several years ago, which isn’t the problem – but actually maneuvering myself into one did claustrophobic things to my shoulders, and I didn’t think I would be able to get into the corset without freaking out that I’d never get OUT. It’s a fairly easy fix – relace the corsets with longer strings – but one that couldn’t be done before the party started, so I did the next best thing.
I wore that One Shirt – the one that everyone has in the back of their closet; the one you can’t bear to get rid of even though it’s inappropriate or doesn’t fit or is falling apart. My One Shirt is a t-shirt I got from The Gap years ago, that features a very deep V-wrap neckline. It’s very flattering, if I ignore the fact that my boobs are almost entirely exposed. I can only remember one time that I actually wore it out in public, and it was to the Potato Farm so I wouldn’t look out of place – so immoral is this shirt. Since I couldn’t rock a corset like I wanted, this would be an excellent substitute.
I honestly can’t remember what point I was trying to make, but I feel that I got it across. My boobs were shamelessly on display and meant to be manhandled by many people. Shan suggested glitter, so there was that too. The photo booth took many pictures of people groping me or nestling in my cleavage – as with the bubble chair, my boobs were there to be enjoyed. Go for it. They won’t be quite this naked in the future.
I admit, I was also drunk on purpose – for a reason I shall divulge later – but I almost wish I hadn’t found the whipped cream in the fridge.
I am never going to be able to go into politics, but at least I have an awesome rack.